


can't you see, you're everything?

by superhusbands



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Two lonely souls connecting in the middle of the night with nothing else to do, Waitress!Sam, Writer!Josh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5293457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhusbands/pseuds/superhusbands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet in a diner at 2am au  [ josh x sam ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't you see, you're everything?

God, he’s tired. It’s the first thing that pops into his head as he slides into the corner booth at the diner, sunglasses slipped into his pocket as he stifles a yawn. He’s been up for over 36 hours straight now and quite frankly, he needs some sleep. Unfortunately, he’s a slave to the muses and his draft is due in three days and he’s not even halfway done. He’ll have a power nap later, drink enough coffee to supply a whole coffee shop, and manage to crank out the last few chapters before his deadline hits. No matter how tired, stressed, or desperate he gets… he hasn’t missed one yet. At least, that’s what he tells himself as the clock starts ticking down. He’s never failed yet, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t. There’s a first time for everything, after all.

 

Josh doesn’t even remember picking up the menu, but by the time the waitress spins by his table, he’s pointing to the first thing on the left and hoping that it’s not some kind of kale salad. He made that mistake last time, and he’d ended up paying $15 for something he couldn’t even suffer through three bites of. Served him right for not paying attention though, he figured. Sleep deprivation could do that to a person. His eyelids felt so heavy and his head so foggy that he was sure that if he tried, if he leaned forward on his elbows and let his head drop down against the curve of his shoulder, he could probably doze off for a good 15-20 minutes. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. 

 

He’s been writing for as long as he could remember. It started in high school — lines scribbles in the margins of his notebooks, ideas jotted down across his palm in sharpie when he was supposed to be studying, and on the late nights where his insomnia wrapped around him so tightly he struggled to breathe? His words breathed air into his lungs, grounded him, and kept him from losing his mind. Writing saved him, he liked to say to whoever was around to hear it. Without it, he’d be lost.The thoughts spark inspiration and he curses under his breath as he pats his pockets, searching and failing to produce the pen that’s always stashed inside of his hoodie pocket. It must have fallen out at one point, and he wonders how he managed to miss that. He’s usually more observant than that. 

 

“Looking for this?”

 

His head snaps up so quickly he hears his neck crack, and he winces even though it doesn’t hurt as he looked up at the stranger who’d approached his table. Yet another thing he’d missed as he tried to keep track of the thoughts swirling around in his head while also looking for his missing pen. The same pen that she’s coincidentally holding between her fingers, a wry smile on her face as she takes in how frazzled he must look. In his defence, he hasn’t slept in a couple days. He’s allowed to look a little unhinged, all because his pen decided to take a swan dive and roll towards this mysterious stranger. The mysterious stranger who’s still staring at him… shit, probably because he’s been staring at her like a moron. Way to go, Washington. Way to go.

 

“Err, yes. Possibly. Maybe.” He speaks clearly, though his words echo the chaos that usually bounces around in his head. He talks like he thinks — quickly, a little disorienting, and chaotic to people who aren’t used to it. His best friend Chris likes to say that it’s similar to watching a foreign film with no subtitles and only a basic understanding of the language. Sometimes you know what’s going on, and other times you’re left struggling to figure out what the hell’s going on. He always liked the comparison. “Sorry, yes, that’s my pen… it doesn’t have my name on it, but, I’m sure it’s mine.” He shot her a smile, hoping that it was more sane looking than it felt, as he took the pen that she’d offered up to him. “Thanks. You’re a hero — I don’t know what I’d do without this pen.”

 

“Uh huh.” Her lips press together like she’s trying not to laugh at him, and he’s caught off guard when she slides into the booth across from him. His words catch in his throat and instead he stares at her like _she’s_ grown a second head, and suddenly she’s laughing. “You know, I’ve seen you here before. You write things down on the napkins, and you always jump like a rabbit whenever Jessica puts your food down in front of you.” Jessica, right, that had to be the waitress. She was always nice and always shot him weird looks whenever he jumped, but he hadn’t realized that other people noticed that. Was that weird? That was a little weird.

 

“That’s weird.” He said out loud, shooting her a quizzical look as he pocketed the pen. The ideas were still poking at the corners of his mind, but he shelved them for now. This girl sitting across from him was… well, he hadn’t quite figured her out. He’d do that first, and then he’d get to work on those chapters. “That you notice that I jump, I mean. Don’t you think that’s weird?” It was then that he noticed she was wearing a name tag with an apron wrapped around her waist, and he mentally smacked himself for not being observant. Again. “Unless you work here…” He said, after a beat, the tips of his ears turned red as he continued. “…and you’ve got nothing better to do, since it’s 2AM.”

 

There was a reason why Josh frequented this diner. It was open 24 hours, but he’d never seen another person there between the hours of 2 and 3. Probably because the bars didn’t close until almost four, so that’s when the drunks would pile in, and the breakfast crowd wouldn’t drop by for a few more hours. It was the perfect time, the perfect place, and he’d enjoyed how reclusive yet included he could feel while lingering in the back booth. Knowing that someone was watching him, however, wasn’t as jarring as maybe it should have been. He was kind of flattered, really. 

 

“Something like that.” She agreed with a nod, her hands coming up to rest on the table as Jessica brought his plate over. Apparently he’d ordered a tuna melt with fries… or he’d ordered something weird, and she’d taken pity on him and given him something better. Judging by the amused look on the girl — Sam, like her name tag said — ’s face, it was probably the latter. “I work the graveyard shift. Midnight to 6AM. It’s not so bad, except that I’ve got class on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 8am.” Her nose scrunched up as she snagged one of his fries, dipping it in ketchup and popping it into her mouth. “I’m starting to feel like a grandma with how many naps I take.”

 

“Napping is good.” He agreed after a moment, his hands wrapped around the mug of coffee on the table that he didn’t even remember ordering. It was warm and he could feel it seeping into his bones, humming contentedly under his breath before taking a sip. “I don’t really sleep. Napping is basically all I do… when I get the chance.” He shrugged his shoulders, shooting her a smile, before draining the rest of the mug and putting it back down on the table. “There’s something about the middle of the night that just… makes it easier.” To write, to live, to _be,_ all of those things were true… but felt a little heavy, seeing as he knew virtually nothing about the girl sitting across from him. “I’m a writer. Puff pieces, mostly, but I’m working on something a little…more. Draft’s due next week, and I’ve only got…. well, not enough.” He tipped his head, leaning forward on his elbows, not as surprised as he probably should have been when she laughed.

 

“I figured. You’ve got the writer look — you’re always alone, have dark circles under your eyes, and I’m pretty sure you’ve fallen asleep more than once. Right here.” She patted the surface of the table, her hand a little too close to his, and he froze for a moment before looking over at her. She was looking back at him, her lips shaping in what looked like a fond smile and for a moment he just smiled back. She was nice — probably too nice, by the looks of it. Way too nice to be spending her time talking to someone like him, really, but he wasn’t about to ask her to leave.“But you know, just because you’re alone, doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.” And with that she tapped the side of his hand with her fingers, shooting another smile in his direction, before sliding out of the booth and off across the room like it was nothing. All he could do was stare after her, mouth hung open slightly in surprise as she waited on another customer who’d just walked in. 

 

He stayed there all night. 

He ordered more coffee and got swept up in his writing, pen dancing over napkin after napkin as he wrote down every single thought that passed through his head. It wasn’t the story he was meant to be writing… but wasn’t that how it went? You never knew when inspiration would hit you, and it was hardly his fault that his mind and his fingers wanted to write an ode to her smile, and the way her head tipped back when she laughed at something that her co-worker said to her.He knew nothing about her, but he wanted to know everything. 

 

Finally, when the clock struck six, he watched her hang up her apron as more and more people started trickling into the diner. A part of him hoped that she’d swing by his table again, slide into the booth and shoot another smile his way, but she didn’t. A wave to her co-workers and she was out the door, and he was left feeling nothing but cold. Shaking off the sting of rejection, he finished his coffee and settled his bill, slipping out the door with his head down and his hands in his pockets. It wasn’t until he heard a voice that he looked up, eyes softening and posture relaxing when he realized who it was.

 

“Hi, Sam.” He supplied in response to her ‘hey’, turning towards where she was leaning up against the building. Had she been waiting for him? The thought caused his hear to race, but he didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself. He barely knew her, and she him. So what if there’d been a connection between them, some spark in that restaurant booth that had made him feel more alive than he had in weeks? It didn’t mean anything. It could have been the sleep deprivation.

 

“I know you spent the whole night drinking coffee, but how about you buy me breakfast?” There was no suggestion to her words, no expectations, and he couldn’t help but smile as he nodded his head. She could have asked for anything, and he would have been happy to oblige. He waited for her to push away from the building before turning the corner. Their hands brushed once or twice on the walk to the coffee shop around the corner and if his heart skipped a beat, he didn’t let on. It was his little secret. 

 

Sam was perfect. That’s what he’d deduced from their breakfast together, where they spent three hours pressed together at a table at the back, his coffee long gone cold and his croissant abandoned as he listened to her talk. She was a student at the local college, studying to be a veterinarian, and she was a vegan and an avid recycler. She was passionate about the things that she cared about, listened attentively without any judgement, and the more she spoke, the more Josh fell in love with her. Just a little bit — nothing excessive, no love at first site bullshit that you saw on the silver screen, but the kind of admiration that came from meeting someone who was so _good_ that it almost hurt to look at them. But she wasn’t all good. She admitted that she’d cheated on a test once, had her heart broken by a girl who’d promised her the world, skinned her knees when she fell off the motorcycle she’d purchased to find something that made her feel alive, and sometimes she felt so lonely that it hurt. She saw that loneliness reflected in him, probably, maybe, and that’s what had convinced her to say hello.

 

He’s glad that she did. 

 

Three weeks later, legs tangled together with his forehead pressed against hers, he tells her all of the things that he wanted to tell her the day he met her. How her smile lights up the room, how her eyes remind him of the clam before the storm, and how sometimes being with her makes his hands shake because of how _much_ she makes him feel. Even when his mind is numbed from the medication he takes to keep his demons at bay, he never forgets the way she makes him feel. Every day it gets stronger and stronger and he waits for the other shoe to drop, for her to realize that she could do better than someone with as many issues as he has, but it never comes. 

 

She smiles and says that she knows. She always had a good feeling about him. 

She always knew there was more to him than silence and a sad smile. 

He’s glad that she did. 

 


End file.
